Journal of Hebrew Scriptures - Volume 11 (2011) - Review

Von Hebron nach Jerusalem comprises Alexander Fischer's Habilitationsschrift, completed while at the University of Jena. Written under J. Conrad, J. van Oorschot, and ultimately U. Becker at the Friedrich-Schiller-Universität Jena, where Fischer currently teaches, this book demonstrates a strong competency in the finely tuned redaction-critical methodology for which German-language biblical scholarship is known. In this treatment of 2 Samuel 1–5 Fischer disagrees strongly with the traditional Göttingen position familiar to Americans, which assigns nearly all the redactional layers of the Deuteronomistic History (DtrH) to the exilic and postexilic periods: although he admits these various layers (grouped roughly into Dtr and DtrS [supplements] redactional strata), Fischer seeks to recover a pre-Deuteronomistic stage of redaction in the book of Samuel. Throughout the book, one recognizes the influence of one scholar whom Fischer names, Otto Kaiser (under whom, it may be noted, both Becker and van Oorschot studied). As will be demonstrated in the following summary, Von Hebron nach Jerusalem displays a theoretical dependence on Kaiser's work that underlies interpretive decisions, sometimes even clandestinely. The book is thus a deft melding of tight, careful stylistic and lexical studies with the broader theoretical and literary program characteristic of Kaiser's work.

Fischer has selected 2 Samuel 1–5 as his primary object of study; these chapters comprise a particularly fruitful series of texts, falling as they do between the two large traditionally-recognized corpora of the “History of David's Rise” and the “Succession Narrative.” The former was previously adjudged to have ended at 2 Sam 5:10, possibly with the rearrangement of 5:17–25 behind 5:3 (p. 6). The latter, initially taken by Rost to have comprised 2 Samuel (7*); 9–20 + 1 Kings 1–2, bears much in common with 2 Sam 2:8(12)–4:12 (p. 6). But this earlier passage (2:8[12]–4:12) seems to have been incorporated into its present position by the framing elements in 2:1–7(11) + 5:1–12, according to Fischer (p. 8). Thus, the two large corpora have only appeared to occupy the same series of chapters in the first section of 2 Samuel, while at the same time failing to effect a smooth transition between the years of David's rule in Hebron and those in Jerusalem. In fact, avers Fischer, neither of the two corpora extended into these first five chapters of 2 Samuel: “Neither did the History of David's Rise possess (besäße) an unequivocal ending with 5:10, nor the Succession Narrative a satisfying beginning with 2:8 or 2:12” (p. 8).[1] The short etiological episode in 5:6–8 forms the only bridge between the two bodies of literature, but, as Fischer points out, it alone can hardly bear the full weight of the transition from Hebron to Jerusalem (pp. 7–8). This eponymous movement thus serves both as the point of departure and as the focal point of Fischer's study.

From the beginning, Fischer challenges the received nature of the two large traditional corpora. All previous attempts to understand the nature of the materials contained in 2 Samuel 1–5 has failed, he claims, because “They assume the two narrative works to be fixed units, whose beginning or end they only postulate, but cannot prove” (p. 9). Citing the recent work of R. Kratz (of the University of Göttingen),[2] Fischer lobbies for a model in which small units of text were brought together through the insertion of much redactional material only at a later point in the development of the traditions (in comparison to earlier models). Accordingly, the putative “unit” formerly known as the History of David's Rise must be conceptualized as a congeries of short, originally independent traditions that have been worked together to form the connective material between episodes in David's life, the full narration of which (including the inauguration of the monarchy itself) now stretches from 1 Samuel 1–1 Kings 2. It is this foundational assumption concerning the nature of the book of Samuel's development, laid out in the book's Introduction (pp. 1–12), from which Fischer begins and which influences the findings of the following chapters' redactional study. Over the span of the five following exegetical chapters (pp. 13–268) and an extensive concluding chapter (pp. 269–329), Fischer crafts an argument asserting the pre-Deuteronomistic collection and redaction of at least a few of the constituent traditions of Samuel. This redactional level, which Fischer designates the “David-Redaktion” (marked by the siglum Red[David]), can be isolated throughout the span of chapters 2 Samuel 1–5. Fischer traces also a subsequent Deuteronomistic overlay that stretched across the books of Samuel (Dtr[Samuel]), an undifferentiated group of late-Deuteronomistic additions (DtrS), and finally a series of short post-Deuteronomistic additions. Being primarily concerned with the original intent of the earliest of these editorial works, Fischer seeks to demonstrate that the redactional work of Red(David) was in fact a pro-Davidic composition completed in the Davidic Court of Jerusalem during the early-to-mid seventh century b.c.e.

Because Fischer's volume proceeds chapter-by-chapter with a closely argued redaction-critical method, it is unnecessary to offer a detailed review here of the numerous interpretive decisions the author makes during the course of each chapter. Passages are generally handled as units, discussed in a relatively intuitive order, and marked according to their spans and reconstructed strata at the beginning of each discussion. The book is well organized, and readers will have little trouble finding the section pertinent to the text on which they are working. The following discussion is therefore dedicated to a close analysis of a few of Fischer's theoretical assumptions and the nature of the interpretive decisions he has made. This analysis should not necessarily be taken as an attempt to refute Fischer's claims; instead, it is intended to provide a basic overview of the model within which Fischer is already working, and to determine the degree to which the assumption of that model constrains the interpretive options available to him. There are points in the discussion at which I obviously disagree with Fischer's analysis; my primary hope is that readers will understand this disagreement as a mark of my sincere appreciation of Fischer's detailed and thoughtful comments on the development of 2 Samuel 1–5. Perhaps equally important is my hope that this review will help to bring an important work of German-language scholarship into a more prominent position in Anglophone circles; in this regard, the effort is somewhat belated, but, I hope, not entirely futile. Through the detailed and thorough nature of this study, I hope to make this book accessible to a much wider audience, even if my comments often give voice to a contrary opinion.

In chapter one, we are provided with several intriguing insights into Fischer's methodological presuppositions. Beginning with the opening phrase of 2 Samuel 1:1, ויהי אחרי מות שאול, a syntactic structure that elsewhere marks the beginning of a book (Josh 1:1; Judg 1:1), Fischer systematically pulls apart the literary markers of the text and subjects them to scrutiny. He finds in the opening verses of 2 Samuel traces of two separate hands. The first, found in vv. 1aα, 2aα₂βγ, comprises the original text:

The second Fischer isolates in vv. 1aβγb, 2aα₁b, and attributes to the Red(David).

This second hand harks back to 1 Samuel 30, and accordingly attempts to exonerate David from any implications in Saul's death. Although Fischer correctly rejects earlier attempts to divide these two hands between two constituent sources running the length of 1–2 Samuel, his determination of the relative priority of the two sets of verses appears somewhat anomalous.  He is, in my estimation, correct in his assessment that “The first introduction [i.e., v. 1aα] forms the bridge to the narrative of Saul's death in the slaughter at Gilboa, and is attached directly to 1 Sam 31:12(13)” (p. 14). But did this immediate continuation of the story necessarily come first? It could equally well comprise a redactional suture drawing together 1 Samuel 31* with the narrative continuation of 1 Samuel 30* that picks up again with vv. 1aβγb, 2a. Moreover, there is no syntactic marker preventing v. 2aα₂ from being read as a cohesive unit along with v. 2aα₁:

As noted above, Fischer recognizes the fact that these latter verses pick up on the action of 1 Samuel 30, but attributes them to a secondary redactor: “It is obvious that the second introduction to the battle with the Philistines harks back (zurücklenkt) to the events in Ziklag narrated in 1 Sam 30. It does this with a particular interest: while Israel is utterly destroyed in the north, David fights in the south for his personal and political survival” (p. 14).[4] Although the nature of the “zurücklenken” remains somewhat ambiguous here, the prevailing assumption is that we are dealing with short episodes that were first collected and interpreted as a narrative arc only by the redactor.[5] But if, as I would argue, 1 Samuel 30* and 2 Sam 1:1aβγb, 2a belong to the same Grundschrift, having been split and placed around 1 Samuel 31*, the story continues without oddity and without complication. It is told entirely from David's point of view, noting his rejection from the Philistine lines (1 Samuel 29*), his return to Ziklag and corresponding pursuit of the Amalekites (1 Samuel 30*), and his receipt of the news of Saul's death (2 Samuel 1*). It would only be natural for this final episode to have picked up with ודוד שב מהכות את־העמלק. Thus, Fischer has not proven that v. 1aα bears any more necessary priority over v. 1aβγb than the classical position has proved the opposite, nor has he showed that the “addition” in v. 2aα₁ is, in fact, an addition to v. 2aα₂ at all. Moreover, if the reconstruction provided here is accurate, the pro-Davidic tendencies of the narrative picking up in v. 1aβγb (which Fischer has correctly identified; pp. 14–15), inhere specifically within the Grundbestand of 1 Samuel 29–30* + 2 Sam 1*, and need not be relegated to the work of a supposed pro-Davidic redactor.

At the same time as Fischer's source-division of vv.1–2a may be countered, he keenly senses that the use of -ויהי ב and וישתחו in v. 2b are secondary features. The former temporal marker “arouses the impression…that the narrative begins again” (“erweckt…den Eindruck, als setze die Erzählung nochmals ein,” p. 16). Indeed, it is the repetition of the temporal clause -ויהי ב that creates this impression; therefore, Fischer's relegation of both clauses beginning - ויהי ב (in v. 2aα₁ and v. 2b) to the same supplementary redactional level is odd. More likely is the inherence of the former to the Grundbestand, and the secondary addition of the latter (as well as of the same clause in v. 1aα). Nonetheless, Fischer's qualification of v. 2b as additional is apposite. The verb חוה is used with a human object of devotion throughout the History of David's Rise and the Succession Narrative, he observes; for the most part, these occurrences come in passages that are to be relegated to strata of redaction. However, the Deuteronomistic strata normally use the verb to indicate the (illicit) veneration of deities other than yhwh in Joshua, Judges, and Kings (e.g., the DtrG evaluations in 1 Kgs 16:31; 22:54; 2 Kgs 21:3, 21; and the DtrS instances in Josh 23:7, 16; etc.[6]), while the verb is used overwhelmingly for the purpose of describing the legitimate veneration of a human overlord in the book of Samuel (e.g., 2 Sam 9:6, 8; 14:4, 22, 33; etc.[7]). Fischer's careful and studious reading of the text has provided a commendable avenue of interpretation: in pointing to this redactional layer running throughout the length of Samuel, betrayed by its particular use of the verb חוה, Fischer has adduced evidence for a redactional stratum already prior to the DtrG redaction. But even if Fischer is correct here in pointing to v. 2b as secondary vis-à-vis v. 2aα₂, his dedication to maintaining v. 1aα as the original introduction to the Grundbestand forces his hand: despite having adduced markers of different hands composing vv. 2aα₂βγ and 2b, Fischer must unite these two verselets as part of his single pre-Deuteronomistic redactional layer on top of a single source document.

From the very beginning, then, we must recognize that Fischer's assumptions concerning the fragmented nature of the source material of Samuel have influenced the interpretive decisions made: his finely-grained analysis of 2 Sam 1:1 does not seek to account for larger trends within the chapters leading up to 2 Samuel 1. The a priori reliance on a supplementary model (and concomitant eschewal of a block model) constrains the interpretive judgments he must make concerning the relative ordering of what could very well be coherent passages (i.e., 1 Samuel 30* + 2 Samuel 1* over against 1 Samuel 31*), each of which was composed as part of an originally separate narrative. This constraint in turn precludes the appropriate recognition of 2 Sam 1:1aα as a redactional suture uniting the two blocks. A model featuring only a single Grundbestand is irreconcilable with the tensions Fischer correctly recognizes within the first few verses of 2 Samuel 1: the natural conclusion of the observation concerning the secondary nature of -ויהי ב in v. 2b is that there is evidence for a pre- (or perhaps proto-) Deuteronomistic redactional layer on top of the Grundbestand of 2 Samuel 1. But the simultaneous recognition that the Grundbestand of 2 Samuel 1 (i.e., vv. 1aβγb, 2a) does not necessarily follow on 1 Samuel 31 means that v. 1aα can also be attributed to this pre-Deuteronomistic supplemental stratum, and was, in fact, added precisely in order to connect the two blocks of text at the pre-Deuteronomistic level.

Despite this initial disagreement with Fischer's analysis of 2 Sam 1:1–2, I may concur rather readily with much of his explanation of the “messenger scene” throughout the remainder of the chapter (pp. 18–40). Several indicators suggest a source-critical separation of the following verses: (a) Fischer observes that the messenger is portrayed in two different manners: he is both a member of Saul's army (vv. 2aα₂βγ,3b) and an Amalekite who happened to be passing by the scene of the battle (vv. 6a, 8b, 13b). (b) David's reaction to the news of Saul's and Jonathan's deaths (first divulged in v. 4) occurs only in v. 11 after the young man's extended account of his encounter with Saul (vv. 5–10; pp. 19–20). (c) The earlier verses' concern with both Saul and Jonathan (וגם שאול ויהונתן בנו מתו ; v. 4) is contradicted by the concern of the later verses only with the person of Saul himself (although cf. the inclusion of Jonathan in v. 5). (d) Fischer points to the variation of narrative style in the two sets of verses: vv. 3–4 are narrated paratactically, while vv. 5–10 are hypotactic in style (p. 20). (e) Finally, the lexical alternation between איש in v. 2 and נער in vv. 5, 6, and 13 comprises a minor indicator of source-critical differentiation. Although each one of these observations could be explained adequately on its own as an authorially-intended tension, the convergence of the three suggests that vv. 5–10, 12aβbα₂, 13–16 are to be attributed to the same secondary stratum (which Fischer names as the Red[David]; pp. 23–40).

This attribution of vv. 5–10, 12aβbα₂, 13–16 to the pre-Deuteronomistic layer is entirely agreeable to me, but we must examine a few of Fischer's methodological assumptions accompanying this attribution. Most important is the position accorded to Jonathan in Fischer's reconstructed Grundbestand. Jonathan features as an object of primary concern to the Israelite messenger in v. 4; Fischer argues that this concern is in keeping with 1 Samuel 31, thus affirming the source-critical consecution of 1 Samuel 31*–2 Samuel 1*. This impression, however, strikes me as misguided. First Samuel 31 lists Jonathan only as one of Saul's three sons (e.g., the enumeration “Jonathan, Abinadab, and Malki-shua, the sons of Saul” in v. 2; “Saul and his three sons” in vv. 6, 8; “Saul and his sons” in v. 7; “the body of Saul and the bodies of his sons” in v. 12). Even there, the narrator's primary concern is with the person of Saul: in the episode comprising vv. 3–6 the narrator focuses on Saul alone, and although the sons are mentioned throughout the remainder of the chapter, the Philistines take only “[Saul's] head (ראשו) and … his equipment (כליו)” (v. 9), and hang “his body (גויתו)” from the wall of Beth-shean (v. 10). Even the Jabeshites hear “about him (אליו)… [about] what the Philistines had done to Saul (לשאול)” (v. 11). Only in v. 12 do the sons—all three of them!—become the objects of action again. This focus on the singular person of the king and almost incidental mention of Jonathan among his brothers stands in diametric opposition to the bulk of 2 Samuel 1, where Jonathan features as the only named son of Saul, and nearly ubiquitously alongside his father (e.g., vv. 4, 5, 12bα₁, 17, 19–27). Instead of viewing the frequent mention of Jonathan as an indicator of textual unity, the various modes of his mention displayed in 1 Samuel 31–2 Samuel 1 demand the opposite conclusion.[8] We have evidence here for two originally separate Grundbestände that have been combined through the employment of a series of redactional joints cinching together the disparate strands of the larger narrative (2 Sam 1:1aα, 2b, 5–10, 13, etc.).

We may recognize in the preceding analysis the results of Fischer's a priori assumption of a solely supplementary model. First, he attributes 2 Sam 1:1aα to the Grundbestand by necessity in order to account for the perceived commonalities between the two chapters. But secondly, we recognize here the intellectual influence of Otto Kaiser. In an essay published in 1990, Kaiser argues for an interpretation of the History of David's Rise as a relatively unified composition in which Jonathan features as the primary bridge figure mediating the kingship to David; in this model, all passages featuring Michal (the other bridge figure of 1–2 Samuel) are secondary to the HDR.[9] The problem with this model is that most of the episodes featuring Michal have an equally valid claim to being original to the text, as Ina Willi-Plein has subsequently argued.[10] In the end, however, the most expedient explanation of the functions of these two bridge figures is to posit the existence of two long-running Histories of David's Rise: Jonathan features as the “bridge figure” in one and David's marriage to Michal as the mechanism of the monarchy's transfer in the other.[11] Not surprisingly, this bifurcation of the children of Saul serving as mediators of power to David overlaps with the bifurcation between narratives surrounding Saul's death posited above: it is possible to correlate 1 Samuel 30* + 2 Samuel 1* with the former narrative (the Jonathan-based one) and 1 Samuel 31* with the latter (the Michal-based one). In short, Fischer's implicit reliance on Kaiser's work, particularly the assumption of a single Grundbestand in which Jonathan features as the transmitter of monarchic authority from Saul to David, effectively limits the interpretive choices available: accordingly, 2 Samuel 1* must follow on 1 Samuel 31 (instead of deriving from a different source); 2 Sam 1:1aα must be part of the Grundbestand (instead of redactional material joining the two); and consequently, 2 Sam 1:2aα₁ must be adjudged secondary, despite its clear thematic correspondence with the remainder of v. 2a*.

To summarize, Fischer's analysis of vv. 5–10, 13–16 appears to me to be correct insofar as he deems these verses secondary to the Grundbestand of the chapter and asserts their reliance on 1 Sam 31:1–7 (pp. 22–23). But Fischer claims this secondary text as part of a seventh-century attempt to exonerate the Davidic House, and to introduce the theme of David's innocent inheritance of the Israelite crown: “the editor (Bearbeiter) recast the interface (eine Schnittstelle besetzt) through the appearance of the Amalekite and anchored the transfer of the kingdom in the literary connection” (p. 31). But if the aforementioned correlation of 1 Samuel 30* + 2 Samuel 1 as part of the same original text is correct, then the Bearbeiter introducing the Amalekite in 2 Sam 1:5–10, 13–16 had a much more intricate project to complete: two separate storylines required interweaving such that neither lost its integrity. The narrative comprising 1 Samuel 30* + 2 Samuel 1* already worked to absolve David from Saul's death (by placing him in southern Judah at the time of the battle). What the Bearbeiter accomplished with the introduction of the Amalekite in 2 Samuel 1* was the final legitimation of David spanning both narratives at the same time. Whereas David had already proven himself to be a competent killer of Amalekites (1 Samuel 30*), Saul's ironic death at the hand of an Amalekite is composed as another episode subordinate to the same theme and implicitly compares David's prowess with Saul's weakness.[12] Contrary to Fischer's argument, David's innocence in Saul's death was a hallmark of the narrative from the beginning; the redactional layer of 2 Samuel 1* actually served to extend it over both constituent narratives of David's Rise.

Finally, a point must be made here concerning the interaction of the book under review with Fischer's other work. Fischer deftly points in this chapter to the introduction of the designation of Saul as the משיח יהוה in v. 14 (p. 34); this designation is to be found in his schema in the pre-Deuteronomistic “Davidic Redaction.” This assignment is sensible and has much in common with other redactional schemas attributing the motif of the anointment of kings to a pre-Deuteronomistic stratum associated with a cadre of self-appointed prophetic “overseers” of the monarchy.[13] Subsequently, however, Fischer has assigned an episode of the same character (1 Sam 9:11–13, 14b–17, 20–21; 10:1, etc.) to the Deuteronomistic Historian on the basis of terminology and syntax (esp. the term נגיד; see also the lengthy discussion of the term on pp. 217–21).[14] As I have argued in a review of that piece in this journal, Fischer's analysis admits of some revision. Passages he considers there to have been formulated by the Deuteronomistic Historian (e.g., 1 Sam 9:16 and 10:1) are centered on the “anointing” motif, and in some cases (e.g., 1 Sam 9:20–21) are themselves subject to source-critical division into pre-Deuteronomistic and Deuteronomistic strata.[15] In keeping with this observation, Fischer's earlier schema in Von Hebron nach Jerusalem, in which the designation of the king as the “anointed one” is assigned to the pre-Deuteronomistic level, is preferable in my opinion, although I would include in that stratum many uses of נגיד as well.

The second chapter of 2 Samuel follows immediately on the first and simultaneously prepares for the third. Of the three units comprising the first half of this chapter (vv. 1–4a, 4b–7, and 8–11), Fischer finds here none that existed on its own prior to the compilation of the larger text. The entirety of 2 Samuel 2 thus fulfills the role of a bridge, bearing ties both forward and backward, as well as of ordering David's geographic and status transitions (pp. 43–46). Accordingly, the beginning of the Succession Narrative can no longer be found at 2:8, as some have maintained.[16] Fischer judges nearly the entirety of this first section (vv. 1–10a) to have been composed by Red(David) (pp. 50–85), with only vv. 10b–11 added by a late-Deuteronomistic hand (pp. 85–93). The second section, however, is comprised of an older battle account overlaid with redactional insertions (vv. 12*, 15bα₂, 17, 25–29, 32b) designed to incorporate it into the present bridge chapter.

According to Fischer, the first subsection (vv. 1–4a) demonstrates a clear distinction from Deuteronomistic theology, insofar as it promotes the use of an oracular device for the discernment of the divine will (v. 1). The device is not explicitly named here, but elsewhere the DtrH has apparently interpreted the use of such an oracular device as a substitute for the ark on occasions when the latter was not available: “DtrH has probably recognized the ephod as an occasional replacement for the ark, as long as it [i.e., the ark] had not yet been conveyed by David to Jerusalem after having fallen into Philistine hands” (p. 52).[17] Although Fischer makes this allowance, it is not clear to me how, exactly, he benefits from doing so. Perhaps this interpretive move is designed to defend the frequent interchange between the ark and the ephod as original to the text and even perhaps historically grounded (e.g., 1 Sam 14:18 LXX^B εφουδ vs. MT האפד; in 23:9 האפוד; and in 30:7 ארון האלהים; note also 1 Kgs 2:26 LXX^B κιβωτὸν τῆς διαθήκης κυρίου and MT ארון אדני אלהים; cf. 1 Sam 14:3; 23:6)? I am not sure that this answer is any more compelling, however, than explaining the apparent oscillation between the two as having been wrought by a DtrH who was attempting to purge the use of the ephod for such purposes from Israel's increasingly normative texts.[18] In either case, Fischer is probably correct to suggest, “the greater portion of the oracle scenes belongs to the pre-Dtr tradition” (p. 52). Unfortunately, given the uneven nature of the purported replacement of references to the ephod (the ark appears only in 1 Sam 14:18 MT; 1 Kgs 2:26), it is difficult to arrive at a satisfactory solution and we may want to defer definitive judgment until additional evidence has been produced.

Less agreeable is Fischer's inclusion of this episode in the same redactional layer as the “Amalekite” redaction in 2 Sam 1:5–10, 13–16 (plausibly assigned to the pre-Deuteronomistic Red[David] and discussed above). One notes first the anointing of the king by the people of Judah. This anointing is qualitatively different from that assumed in 1 Sam 10:1. It is this prophetic anointing in private that qualifies the recipient as the משיח יהוה, subordinating the crown-designate directly under God and establishing him as “untouchable.” We saw above that this anointing of Saul plays out in the “Amalekite” redaction of 2 Samuel 1*. Conversely, it is the men of Judah who perform the anointing of David in 2 Sam 2:4a, which occurs in public and with no indication of divine approval or initiative. Fischer's attempt to subsume these two traditions into the same redactional stratum seems forced in my opinion. It does not, however, seem unlikely that this episode is pre-Deuteronomistic; one must question whether we perhaps have here evidence of multiple pre-Deuteronomistic traditions—either multiple traditions that were brought together by a pre-Deuteronomistic redactor, or another redactor between Fischer's posited Red(David) and Dtr?

The following episode is equally ill disposed to incorporation in the pre-Deuteronomistic redactional schema Red(David), which assignment Fischer makes in two steps: first, he handles vv. 4a, 7b (pp. 56–63), then second, vv. 4b–7a (pp. 63–69). We may handle these two portions in reversed order. First, we should notice the three-fold appearance of אשר with uncommon meanings within a span of four verses. In v. 4b the word serves to introduce a substantival subordinate clause,[19] while in vv. 5 and 6 it introduces causal clauses.[20] These uses of אשר are relatively uncommon in Samuel, in part because the former, at least, increased in LBH.[21] Although not necessarily diagnostic for the dating of the passage, this linguistic datum is noteworthy, and should draw our attention to the fate of Saul's remains in the other passage in which we hear of them, 2 Sam 21:1–14. There, the narrator mentions “Saul's bones and (the bones) of Jonathan his son (את־עצמות שאול ואת־עצמות יהונתן בנו) three times (vv. 12, 13a, and 14aα),[22] in all of which the bones are the object of someone else's action. As Simeon Chavel has pointedly observed, all three of these verses/verselets (vv. 12–13a, 14aα) form a series of secondary glosses to the base narrative of 2 Sam 21:1–14*, which is concerned only with the seven sons of Saul slaughtered at the behest of the Gibeonites.[23] Chavel notes the complexity of the tradition's development:

Although it was composed without a full study of the development of 2 Samuel, Chavel's posited “process of expansion” is nonetheless quite reasonable. However, I must differ by assigning 1 Samuel 31 and 2 Sam 21:12–13a, 14aα to two different tradita. I would agree that the narrator's concern in 1 Sam 31:1–13 is primarily with the fate of Saul's head (v. 9), accoutrements (vv. 9, 10), and body (v. 10), no matter the accompanying fate of his three sons (also mentioned in vv. 8, 12–13). What Chavel did not take into account, however, was the parallel History of David's Rise in which Jonathan featured as the sole son of Saul (cf. 2 Samuel 1*, discussed above). Positing that there was no development in the traditum, but rather two parallel streams of tradition, we are then confronted with the conundrum of explaining the persistence of a Jabeshite tradition (proper to the first HDR represented in 1 Samuel 31*) within which are found only “Saul and … Jonathan his son” (constituent units of the second HDR). The answer, of course, is quite simple: as Chavel recognized, it would have been easy for an editor to insert the phrase “and (the bones) of Jonathan his son (ואת־עצמות יהונתן בנו)” into 2 Sam 21:12, 13a, and 14aα in order to bring the tradition into alignment with the “Saul-Jonathan” source represented throughout the Grundbestand of 2 Samuel 1*. Perhaps this phrase even replaced an original ואת־עצמות בניו (“and the bones of his sons”).[25] But why was this emendation necessary so far removed from the nexus of the intertwined Histories of David's Rise? Again, the answer seems trifling. Comparison of the content of 2 Sam 21:12–13a, 14aα with that of 1 Sam 31:1–13 and 2 Sam 2:4b suggests that David's beneficence towards the bones of Saul originally found its expression immediately after Saul's death. Elsewhere I have reconstructed the continuation of the original tradition as follows:

This assignment is all more plausible when we recognize that Saul's hometown was not originally Gibea (as in 1 Sam 11:4), but rather Zela (known from Josh 18:28), as played upon already in the early Narrative of Saul's Rise: in 1 Sam 10:2 MT the seer (in subsequent recensions, Samuel) predicts that Saul will meet two men in an otherwise unknown Zelzah.[27] This early Narrative of Saul's Rise was known already by the author(s) of the History of David's Rise encompassing 1 Samuel 31, thus suggesting that an original episode comprised of 2 Sam 2:4b + 21:12-13a*, 14aα* is entirely plausible. Thus, we may confirm with Fischer that in 2 Samuel 2, the present vv. 5–7a are in fact subsequent to the Grundbestand of 2 Samuel 1*, although v. 4b is consonant with a posited early episode continuing 1 Sam 31:1–13. I might, however, prefer a later date for vv. 5–7a than would Fischer; the uncommon uses of אשר mentioned above may be an indication of late-seventh (?) or early-sixth century (i.e., Deuteronomistic) or later date.

Because it shows no particular thematic or lexical disjunction to the preceding vv. 5–7a, v. 7b likely belongs with those verses. Fischer's reasons for handling vv. 4a, 7b together depend on these verses' common knowledge of David's anointing at the hands of the Judahites. But it is not necessary that a single redactor composed both verses: v. 7b could just as easily have been composed with an earlier v. 4a in view. Again here a block-and-supplement model provides a more satisfactory reading of 2 Sam 2:4–7: If we posit (as suggested above) that v. 4a derives from a parallel strand to the History of David's Rise forming 1 Sam 31:1–13 + 2 Sam 2:4b, then when the tradition originally following 2:4b was displaced as 2 Sam 21:12–13a, 14aα, the way was cleared for the addition of 2:5–7, which clearly had the tradition of David's anointing in v. 4a available for inclusion. In short, while I agree in principle with much of Fischer's judgment of these verses (vv. 4–7*) as secondary to the original Grundbestand of the chapter, I must distinguish myself on two fronts. First, v. 4a may have served as the source, not the partner, of the anointing traditum in v. 7b. The latter verselet seems to me to comprise a complete unit with vv. 4b (reframed), 5–7a. Second, the type of anointing described in both v. 4a and v. 7b is qualitatively different from that assumed in 2 Sam 1:14, 16 (which is founded upon the secondary 1 Sam 10:1; and is reflected in 16:1–13; etc.). In short, Fischer has correctly concluded that whoever composed 2 Sam 2:4b–7a was aware of 1 Sam 31:11–13, but did not produce an immediate continuation of it (p. 64). Fischer is similarly correct, I concur, in his identification of David's overtures towards the Jabeshites both as an invitation to solidify a parity treaty (rather than a vassal treaty; p. 67) and as a clandestine proposal to the northern kingdom to ease its tensions with Judah (p. 68).

In the following verses (vv. 8–11), the biblical text portrays Abner's counter-moves to secure Transjordan and northern Israel from David's invasive entreaties. In his discussion of these verses, Fischer proves himself an adroit interpreter of philological and archaeological data. Abner is introduced in v. 8; although we have met him previously in the text of Samuel (1 Sam 14:49–51; 17:55–58; etc.), Fischer makes the pointed observation that we have never really yet seen Abner as the general of Saul's army in the field (p. 70). Abner's expanded role in this chapter and the following corresponds to the literary function he serves as the martial sponsor of Ishboshet. The latter, Fischer notes, does not have the same literary background as Abner: he is introduced here for the very first time (contrary to scholarly views that equate אישבשת with the name ישוי of 1 Sam 14:49; pp. 71–73). Because this character is “firmly anchored only in 2 Sam 2:8–11,” Fischer suggests that we might have here a fictive person, whose name is a combination of Yishwi and Mephibosheth (p. 73). The historicity of this character's rump government is equally up for grabs, since it has left no discernible traces in the archaeological record, even if it is historically plausible (pp. 74–75). Fischer demonstrates his acute awareness of the historical geography of ancient Palestine in a pair of excurses on, respectively, the expanse of Ishboshet's kingdom (pp. 76–77) and the geography and history of Mahanaim (pp. 81–84). Through these short digressions, Fischer is able first to make the case for concluding that Ishbosheth did not control territory further to the north of the Jezreel valley (pp. 77–78), even as “the Philistines unexpectedly leave the stage, and make place for the following confrontation, in which Ishbosheth, as the heir of Saul installed by Abner, and David, as the future king of Israel, confront one another” (p. 78). This recognition leads to another—namely, that the portrayal of Abner and Ishbosheth's move to Mahanaim is not that of an act of asylum from the Philistines, but rather of a move to block David's overtures to the Jabeshites. These verses (vv. 8–10a) thus comprise a literary bridge between the (now reworked) end of the narrative concerning Saul's death in 2 Samuel 1 and the developing narrative in 2 Sam 3:1–4:12, anticipating three major themes of the following chapters: (a) the foiling of David's plan to assimilate the Jabeshites into his nascent kingdom; (b) “the dynastic legitimation of Ishbosheth”; and (c) the political and military machinations of Abner (p. 85).

The preceding analysis has demonstrated that, despite the overall soundness of this assessment of vv. 8–10a, Fischer's identification of 2 Sam 2:1–11 as a “compositional unity” (kompositionelle Einheit; pp. 69, 93) and the assignment of this passage's composition to Red(David)—the possible assignation of only vv. 10b–11 to DtrS notwithstanding (pp. 85–93)—overlooks a number of conflicts within his reconstructed redactional schema and does not conform well with the literary evidence at hand. Nonetheless, this chapter is indicative of Fischer's project as a whole: his meticulous textual analysis and strong background in Syro-Palestinian historical geography and archaeology present the reader with a detailed, well-informed discussion that ought never be treated lightly. Fischer's discussion of chapters three, four, and five proceed largely in the same manner, with excellent literary observations compelling a generally credible, if sometimes schematically-forced, redactional analysis. The detail with which Fischer makes his argument is formidable.

A single item worthy of analysis remains: the means whereby Fischer dates his Red(David) to the seventh century. A significant element of the argument is comprised by Fischer's reading of 2 Sam 5:6–8 (the episode of the takeover of Jerusalem, discussed on pp. 222–43). Through a very careful analysis of the passage, even citing cognate data from reports of city-takeovers in the Mediterranean world, Fischer reconstructs the tactical coup recounted in 2 Sam 5:6–8: the term צנור + ב + נגע (v. 8aα), he argues, means simply “to reach [the city] through the Ṣinnor”—the Ṣinnor being a construction of some sort (p. 238). Despite this rather traditional reading of the crux, Fischer's analysis is new: he analyzes the popular belief that the Ṣinnor should be identified with Warren's Shaft, the “nearly vertical, 13m…shaft, which was also supposedly foolishly unguarded” (p. 239). Such a suggestion, he opines, is more likely “a fairly improbable conquest narrative, fueled by romantic adventure-fantasy” (“eine von romantisierender Abenteuerphantasie gespeiste und ziemlich unwahrscheinliche Eroberungsgeschichte,” p. 239). The stairs leading to Warren's Shaft would have lain outside the city walls of the tenth century—by approximately 8m, according to the data Fischer cites[28]—but even more debilitating to the historical credibility of this thesis is Fischer's assertion that Warren's shaft is most directly comparable to the types of water system found, for example, at Hazor and Megiddo. Moreover, the most recent data seem to show that the upper end of Warren's Shaft was only discovered in the mid-eighth century, as the formerly horizontal tunnel was lowered.[29] If the identification of the Ṣinnor with Warren's Shaft is correct, these data suggest a date for the episode's (idealized and fictional) composition in the eighth century, rather than in the tenth century, when it is purported to have taken place (pp. 241—42). First, how else should the author have portrayed David's entry into a city considered impenetrable (even in the mid-eighth century),[30] Fischer asks, than by picturing the aspiring monarch as exploiting the most common weakness of any city—its waterworks? Second, the steps leading to Warren's Shaft lay within the city walls of the eighth-seventh centuries, allowing the author to posit that David's successful ascension of the vertical shaft could have deposited him undetected in the heart of the city (even if this reconstruction fancifully partakes in the assumption that the Shaft would not have been kept under guard). And finally, with the completion of Hezekiah's tunnel—which, not incidentally, verifies the observation that the residents realized Warren's Shaft was not impervious to attack!—the outdated Shaft would naturally have a claim to being the older (and more exploitable) water system. Fischer's well reasoned argument thus concludes: “2 Sam 5:6–8 allows one to recognize no more and no less than that someone [working during] the late monarchic period imagined the conquest of Jerusalem through the Warren's Tunnel System and attributed this sudden attack to David's cunning” (p. 242).

Fischer's analysis here displays a certain cunning of its own. Yet despite the prudence of this exposition, it does rely heavily on a number of postulations: first, that we have correctly understood the phrase ויגע צנור in 2 Sam 6:8 as referring to a waterworks of some kind; second, that the term did in fact refer to Warren's Shaft, and not to some other conduit of lesser stature that has not yet been found, or which has not been preserved in the archaeological record; third, that the archaeological excavations of Jerusalem—and especially of its tenth-century remains—have been correctly conducted and interpreted (a proposition that seems ever more tenuous in light of the continuing claims to the contrary from parties on differing sides of the debate[31]); and fourth, that Fischer's textual analysis of the stratification of 2 Samuel 5 is both accurate and credible. These four caveats should cause us significant concern if we are trying to determine a date for the Red(David) primarily on the basis of 2 Sam 5:6–8.

I would make only a few more brief comments on the thesis of this project; these comments center on the book's rejection of the postulated large narrative complexes isolated in twentieth-century biblical scholarship (as propounded already in the Introduction). Fischer seems implicitly to conflate the issues of contemporaneity and textual boundaries in his juxtaposition of the two areas of investigation on p. 9:

But it is not at all clear that these two areas of study require such interconnectedness outside of the scaffolding of recent argumentation. Although several recent works have indeed challenged the inherent unity of the History of David's Rise,[32] these works have generally proceeded from a starting position that already assumes significant stages of redactional augmentation, rather than a block model holding the predominant juxtaposition of episodes from two different complexes and tied together only by a relatively light set of redactional insertions.[33] As I have attempted to show above (particularly in the discussion of Fischer's first chapter), positing the possibility of a block-and-supplement model, in which two parallel Histories of David's Rise have been juxtaposed and then overlaid with unifying redactional material, provides an equally satisfactory and compelling understanding of the composition history of Samuel as does the fragment-and-supplementary model.

Despite my hesitation to endorse Fischer's stratification and dating of the text wholeheartedly, I find it quite encouraging that he is, in essence, arguing for a pre-Deuteronomistic composition designed to draw together significant swaths of Samuel before the Deuteronomists' various redactional enterprises took place. As I opined above, the textual and historical arguments Fischer marshals in Von Hebron nach Jerusalem are cogent and compelling—indeed, often ingenious—even if one does not always agree with his conclusions; the arguments always deserve careful scrutiny (as I have only imperfectly been able to demonstrate with this review). This volume is well crafted, and, for the most part, is clearly written enough to be useful for scholars whose native tongue is not German. Fischer's “Zusammenfassung und Ausblick” (pp. 269–39) provides a schematic analysis of the remainder of the book of 2 Samuel, attempting to sketch the rough contours of the Red(David) as that text is found throughout the remainder of the book; one can only hope that those who choose to follow Fischer in this line of questioning handle the material as thoroughly and as capably as he. Finally, the author has graciously included two tables with text-critical and redaction-critical data (pp. 332–33); a series of Textpräparationen of the sections under discussion (2 Samuel 1–5; pp. 334–42); a magnificent bibliography subdivided by genre (general resources, commentaries, articles, etc.; pp. 343–68); as well as citation and subject indices (pp. 369–86). These reference resources alone are of great value to the scholar of Samuel, and deserve regular consultation. It is an honor to have had the opportunity to review this work—as belatedly as this review appears—and I look forward to interacting with the author's work in the future.

Jeremy M. Hutton, University of Wisconson, Madison